


Arctic Spring, Scarlet Morning

by Adadzio



Series: Canon Divergence/AU [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Happy Shireen, Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Infidelity, May/December Relationship, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:17:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adadzio/pseuds/Adadzio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew when it all began: the first time he laid eyes on her across the café, red and riveting and red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends!
> 
> I received a request a while back for a modern Lobster Flambe AU (withholding the prompt details so I don't spoil my own fic!) but if that was you, I hope you enjoy :) 
> 
> This short story alternates between the morning of 5 April and vignette ish flashbacks.  
> xx

[ ](http://histruequeen.tumblr.com/post/128391475944/katzenkunst-when-the-war-is-won-ill-make-you)

* * *

 

5 April 2015 // 6:02 AM

* * *

“Shireen…you can go in, if you’d like.”

Stannis Baratheon was exhausted. He watched his daughter hurry down the quiet hospital hallway and asked himself the same question he had been asking for months.

_How had his life come to this?_

He knew when it all began. The first time he laid eyes on _her_ across the café, red and riveting and red, waiting tables absentmindedly. Seeing her was end of the world as he had known it, and the beginning of this bloody mess. That much, he knew.

He knew why it hadn’t ended there, either. All those nights he had returned; sleepless nights he was drawn back to that shady café on the wrong side of town. Night after night he would bring in his university students’ assignments with the intention of assigning marks, and instead watch her float about the dim room until the early hours of the morning. She couldn’t have been older than his students herself, but instead of sleeping in his lectures like others her age, she was happily working night shifts in a slum café—doing gods knew what in the daytime. 

So night after night he came to study her, attempting to understand this scarlet enigma of a girl. He would observe her as she spoke passionately to the visiting midnight writers, cabbies, hungover teenagers; the junkies, prostitutes, middle-aged businessmen on the brink of fraud and self-destruction. Night after night he had pitied her and those destitute outcasts with a sneer. _How sad they were._

Stannis watched his own daughter hesitate at the end of the corridor, and a silent, painful revelation came upon him.

Those people had been passing through, stumbling into that condemned place by accident.

But he? Night after night, month after month, just like the red girl, he _chose_  to be there.

_And he was more wretched than any of them._


	2. A Temporary Separation

* * *

_1 year earlier_

* * *

 

“Ordering anything else?”

She had finally waited on his side of the room that sleepless morning. Among other things, Stannis was taken aback by the strange inflection of her voice. The question slipped out before he could catch it.

“Where is your accent from?”

The red girl smiled widely. “Not here. More coffee?”

“Gods, no.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, attempting to stop staring at her now that she was so close. His heart had begun to race inexplicably. “Have you any decent tea? The coffee is dreadful.” 

For a painful moment he was afraid he had actually offended her, yet slowly, some kind of understanding dawned upon her face. To his amazement, she tossed her order pad on his table and sat smoothly across from him. He squirmed under her suspicious gaze.

“You come here every night. Sometimes you stay until morning.”  

He frowned, but he had been long prepared. “I don't sleep much." Then, gesturing weakly to his papers: "I grade at night." 

“But why here? It’s a rough area, and apparently the coffee is so dreadful…?”

He snorted at her cheekiness. “It’s quiet here. Better than sitting restless at home.”

“And where is that?”

Stannis lifted an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

She was watching him so calmly then, so intensely, that his nervousness increased tenfold. Finally, she shook her head, breaking her scrutiny to look somewhat abashed. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to pry. I see people from all walks of life, but you are different. Most men who end up here do not have a career, or any kind of education, for that matter. They come here because they have no place to go at night. I only wondered if you had a house…a family.”

Shifting tersely, he retorted, “I do. Not that you need to know." But she was still watching him expectantly. _How impertinent._ He sighed. "I have one daughter.“

Red girl's smile widened, eyes sparkling with genuine interest. “And does she not miss you?”

A heavy moment passed. Stannis shrugged uncomfortably. “She lives with her mother most of the time.”

“Oh. You are divorced.” 

Stannis’ head was beginning to ache from lack of sleep, as well as her impropriety, her personal questions, no—assumptions. 

The truth was that he was still very much married. _A temporary separation,_ his wife had proposed, in a desperate last effort to salvage their relationship. Her hope had been that a bit of distance would clear both their heads, that they would overcome this hardship for the sake of their daughter. Yet the tension between him and Selyse had only mounted as the months dragged on, and it was taking its toll on sweet Shireen as a consequence. He could not explain the dull ache in his chest as he saw her carefree smile strain and fade from season to season. He could not explain the lifelessness in his voice as he went through his motions as a professor and as a father, picking up Shireen dutifully every Friday, and letting her go again every Monday. He could not explain how he felt he was dying, and even if he _could_ explain it, he did not feel the need to do so to this scarlet-haired stranger.

Instead, he began to pack his papers neatly into their folders. “You should wait your tables.”

“But aren’t you dying to know my name? After all these months of watching me?”

He glanced up sharply at her, alarmed by her teasing tone. “I don’t watc—No. Not particularly.”

_Gods, why is she laughing?_

Even more, why was her laugh so compelling...?

“Then perhaps you are just mildly curious, Stannis Baratheon.” She glanced suddenly at the window. "Oh. Beautiful, isn't it? Almost dawn," she breathed. 

Just as abruptly as she had sat down, she stood up and grabbed her pad again, never looking away from the dim copper sky.

“I’m Melisandre.”

He watched her walk away then, a flurry of scarlet smiles, and his world began to collapse.


	3. A Small Red Note

* * *

  5 April 2015 // 6:03 AM 

* * *

 

Shireen was still standing at the end of the corridor. She had been so eager before, but now her hand was shaking on the door handle. Uncertainly she called out, “Aren’t you coming in, papa?” 

Stannis dimly realized that she was shivering from more than just nerves. It was early April, long past time for the cold to have melted away, but it had been a harsh, unusual winter. The hospital was on the rough side of the city, and evidently its heating pipes were still frozen, or something equally ridiculous. The whole place was long neglected, just like that stupid café.

“Go in, but keep your jacket on,” he called back. “I’ll be a minute.”  

 

* * *

_July 2014_

* * *

 

He nearly dropped the paper he was reading when a teacup and saucer were placed delicately in front of him.

“I asked my boss a few weeks ago if we could stock some black tea.” Her smile was serene, as usual. “I hope you like it, Professor Baratheon.”

Stannis did not know how to respond, so he went back to writing scathing comments on the assignment before him. “How did you know my name, the other month?”

“From your students’ papers. So, you teach summer courses?”

His head shot back up, eyes narrowing. At his expression, she smirked like a schoolgirl. “Surely you realize I’ve been watching you, too?”

“Why would you watch me?" 

Melisandre sat herself across from him again. “I watch all the people who come here, searching for one in particular. That’s why I work the night shifts.”

Stannis did not pretend to understand her cryptic words. “Explains why you’re a bloody awful waitress.”

In that moment he actually hoped she would be offended. It was early morning, he had not yet slept, and he was weary of ending up at her abysmal café night after night. He wanted to break her infuriating smile— _gods, what did SHE have to be happy about?_ He wanted to crack open her mysterious façade and analyze what came spilling out.

_He wanted to stop obsessing over her._  

But she was not offended, damn her, and he was no less infatuated when she reached across the table to slide a small red note under his hand.

Stannis jerked away violently as warm fingers brushed his. “What…?”

“My address,” Melisandre said calmly. “My shift ends at 5. It's lovely, because that's when the sun begins warming up, this time of year.” 

Vaguely he wondered how this girl had the energy to work such shifts, but forced himself to be more concerned with the fact that she had just handed her address to a man twenty years her senior. He raised his eyebrows incredulously. “You give this to strangers?”

She tilted her head coyly, a sincere smile reaching those entrancing eyes. "My flat faces east," she continued, "if you come early enough, we could even watch the sunrise together..."

Stannis furrowed his brow, puzzled by this new development in their acquaintanceship. Before he could reject her inappropriate offer, she stood up, smoothing her skirt down.

“Go home, Stannis Baratheon. Sleep a while.” The red enigma brushed past him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  


	4. A Morning Song

* * *

5 April 2015 // 6:14 AM

* * *

 

Stannis glanced tiredly at the clock on the wall. It was so bloody early _,_  and already they were playing some awful music, a song far too upbeat and cheerful for the morning. Shireen, he noticed, had finally gone into the room at the end of the hallway. He was running out of time.

_Now is an acceptable moment to panic,_ he decided. 

Running a hand through his greying hair, Stannis turned to find more coffee. Hospital coffee was dreadful, especially at this hospital, but it was the only thing keeping him awake.

Yet he feared he needed more than caffeine to get him through this morning. He needed divine intervention.

 

* * *

_July 2014 //  6:14 AM_

* * *

  

“You came,” she said softly. She was still wearing her wrinkled uniform, maroon combat boots and all.

He warily allowed her to lead him into the tiny flat. It was red, like her, and uncomfortably warm. Despite the light of dawn outside, there were candles everywhere, and music was drifting from another room—a hypnotic song in a language he didn't understand. 

Stannis had gone home for a few hours, as she suggested, but sleep had evaded him. Even worse, it was a weekday, which meant he needed to be at the university in a few hours. Yet there he was, sleep-deprived and standing in this strange girl's apartment. “Tell me why I am here,” he demanded. 

Melisandre glanced over her shoulder at him, fiddling with the furnace—why, he had no idea. It was the middle of summer.

“You tell me, Professor.”

He scowled, silently counting the fire hazards in the room. “Don’t call me that.”

In a breeze of scarlet she was brushing past him again. “Would you like something to drink?” She beamed back at him suggestively. “Tea…?”  

Stannis surprised himself by catching her wrist roughly. “What is this about, Melisandre?”

The young woman stopped in her tracks, eyes fixed on his. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name,” she murmured. She was close. Much too close.

“You don’t seem to listen otherwise,” he remarked dryly. He glanced down and noticed that his fingers were still gripping her wrist. Before he could move away, Melisandre caught the front of his dress shirt in her own fist.

“For an intelligent man, Stannis Baratheon, you are quite slow,” she mused before her lips met his. 

In retrospect he allowed the kiss to go on far too long. Nothing made sense about this girl. Nothing made sense about _this._ It was madness; irrational madness.That didn't stop one of his hands from fisting in the red of her skirt, the other in the red of her hair. When Melisandre’s own fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt, he finally snapped out of his reverie. “Stop.”

“Why?” She was breathing heavily, lips swollen, made even redder by his kisses.

Stannis pulled away forcefully, staring at her for several long moments. He was so agitated with the whole situation that the accusation fell from his lips like venom. “Is this what you do with your customers?” Turning slightly to put distance between them, he felt himself grow angrier by the second. “You think I’ve been going there to pick up a _whore_?”

For the first time, he saw genuine pain flash across Melisandre’s face. “No…” she shook her head slowly. “No, you misunderstand me, Stannis—“

He rounded on her furiously. “ _Don’t_ say my name. You don’t know me.”

Their faces were nearly touching again. The air was heavy; choking. He needed to get out of there. “I do know you,” she whispered.

“What?” he demanded, though his rage was cooling and disgust taking its place. “You think because you’ve watched me at a table for a few months you _know_ me?”

Melisandre smiled sadly up at him. “No. I know you because you are the one I have been searching for, all this time. We are connected, you and I. More intimately than you could ever imagine.”

Stannis shook his head in disbelief. “You are a very stupid girl.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her own face hardening. “Or maybe I am wiser than you with all your degrees and your ridiculous  _superiority complex._ So you have a house? Somestudents you despise,a family you never see? What good is that if you are so miserable? I'm not stupid. You have a woman somewhere who probably still loves you, and a daughter too, and instead of trying to win them back, you sit there hating yourself, night after night." Her words hit him like a cruel blow to the chest. "I don't have any of that," she finished quietly. "But at least I am _living_."

He opened his mouth to shoot back an insult, but he was speechless.

She was watching him carefully with that unnerving gaze. “When was the last time you felt alive, Stannis? Truly?” Her voice was a whisper again, much to his irritation.

“Life,” he spat, “is only a list of duties, and the list never grows shorter. We live because we have no choice but to fulfill it.”

“No,” she insisted, eyes shining with pity. “Life is a journey to find the truth.” Her hands were creeping back to the buttons on his shirt. “Let me show you…” 

He was so very tired, in so many ways. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, to stop the walls from closing in on him, day in and day out. But above all, he didn't want to fight anymore. He couldn't fight; he no longer had the strength. So when she kissed him again, he allowed her, even let her pull off his clothing this time, even let his own hands press her body into the velvet couch. As the sun rose and streamed through the dirty windows, the room became bright and stifling. He was burning in the scarlet morning, but for once, Stannis Baratheon didn't have the energy to care.


	5. A Crimson Sweater

* * *

5 April 2015 // 6:26 AM

* * *

 

He drained his stale coffee in two long gulps. 

“Mr. Baratheon…?”

Stannis whirled around tersely. “Yes?”

“Ah, I thought it was you.” The mousy nurse continued, “She’s been asking for you. And I think your daughter is in there.” 

“Yes, thank you,” he said awkwardly.

When he made no move to walk down the appropriate corridor, the nurse smiled sympathetically, scribbling notes on her clipboard all the while.

“Nervous, are you? I’ll bet it’s been a while.”

Stannis shifted on his feet, trying not to feel defensive. “It wasn’t quite p—“ _Gods, she didn't need to know all that._  Still, it felt nice to talk to someone. “Ten years," he admitted with a sigh. "Never thought I’d be experiencing this again.”

The nurse nodded knowingly. “You’d be surprised. Very few actually plan it.” She began walking away, clucking over her clipboard. “That’s life, isn't it...”

For a long while Stannis studied the lobby's radiator, spluttering and ancient.

"Yes," he finally agreed, but the woman was gone. 

* * *

 

He never went back.

Dirty and reckless, he had been, those sleepless months at the café. A terrible husband and a terrible father. _More terrible than usual,_ his conscience corrected.

He would forget their foolish morning together, he vowed. He would forget the colour red. He would forget _her._  

So he never went back to the café. She never knew his mobile number, thank the gods, nor his address, so there was no easy way for her to contact him _._

Yet he still couldn’t sleep. Despite his best efforts to forget her, she haunted him. Those nights when sleep finally found him were even worse. He dreamt in crimson, bloody crimson, and would wake with a deep sense of unease. For a brief time he wondered if she was in trouble, or worse—if she had died. 

By the time he finally saw her again, November had chilled the air, his wife and daughter had drifter even further from him, and he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“Professor Baratheon…?” 

His head shot up, recognizing her distinctive accent immediately. There she stood in the door of his office—red and beautiful as ever, tugging a crimson sweater tighter around her body. _An omen,_ some absurd voice in his head insisted. But it was true—there was something off about her. She looked different than he remembered. Too pale, she was, with dark circles framing her eyes. And for once, her smile seemed forced.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment, but he finally broke the silence.

“How did you find my office?”

Melisandre tilted her head, attempting a weak laugh. “I know your name, so I asked around. I've been trying a while...to get a hold of you, I mean. A...few months, actually. But it wasn’t impossible to find where you teach.”

 _Why was she so anxious?_ He had never seen her this way before. She had never been anything but composed in all his months of watching her across the room, their brief encounters, even in their morning together. Well. _Composed for the most part._ She had too much fire in her not to burn every once in a while.

"It's good to see you," she confessed softly. "I haven't seen you since July…"

Her casual tone was the final straw, the tipping point after months of pent-up tension. Stannis stood abruptly, striding toward her. “And you’re no student. So what business would you have seeing me?”

She opened her mouth in surprise, but he cut her off. “I don’t want to hear anymore of your childish ideas. If you want to sell your romantic bullshit to your other customers, be my guest. I’m sure you’ll lure more of them in. But not me. Not anymore. I'm not going back there, if that's what you're going to ask. And you will not come  _here,_ ever again.” Stannis had stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the unnatural heat of her body, to see the stunned pain in her eyes. “Understand?” 

Melisandre opened her mouth several times, but she was unable to deliver her prepared words. Finally she shook her head, smiling sadly. “I understand. But…you had a right to know.” 

Dread settled deep in the pit of Stannis’ stomach, stronger than the anger clouding his vision red.He silently cursed the concern that compelled him to hear her out.

“A right to know what?”  _Oh gods, she IS_   _dying..._

But when she opened her sweater, he saw that she was something _else_ entirely.

“You’re going to be a father again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.


	6. A Document Somewhere

* * *

 5 April 2015 // 6:32 AM

* * *

 

**_Incoming Call: Selyse Baratheon._ **

“Shit,” Stannis muttered. He clicked the receive button hesitantly. “Selyse.”

“Hi.” _Silence._ "Right, um, just wanted to check in about picking up Shireen from the hospital. Has she…visited? She ready to leave?”

Stannis sighed heavily. “Yes…well. In a few minutes, I’m sure.”

“Alright.”

“Selyse…" He closed his eyes. "Thank you…for driving her over so early. You didn’t have to.”

“Oh. Well, she was so excited for…” Selyse's voice trailed off _._ “…So. How is _she?”_

 

* * *

_December 2014_

* * *

  

Selyse Baratheon clenched her jaw, a habit she had picked up over the years from her husband. She repeated herself firmly. “ _Who is she,_ Stannis?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t affect—”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?I am your _wife!_ Your estranged wife, maybe, but still your wife, Stannis!" She stopped pacing his kitchen when she noticed the overwhelming guilt in his expression. "Oh God. Who is she?” she demanded a final time. "And don't tell me it doesn't matter." 

His face was set in a grimace. "No one you'd know. She works at a cafe."

"You're cheating on me with a _waitress_? How old is she?" He looked away. " _How old,_ Stannis?"

"Twenty-two."

The full realization of his betrayal set in. “Oh my God, I don't—" She began pacing again, hand against her mouth in disbelief. "And she's pregnant? What were you even thinking, Stannis? No, you weren't thinking. This is some midlife crisis, isn’t it—”

He ran a hand wretchedly down his face. “Selyse—"

“No! Stop. Just stop." She pressed her fingers hard against her temple, then looked up at him with a steely expression. "I am your wife, and I want to know who this woman—this _girl_ is.”

Stannis spoke to the floor, so quiet that she barely heard him. “My wife, in what? A document somewhere? This is no marriage, Selyse.”

“So that’s it? You love her, then?” She lifted her chin, eyes pained. “Is that why you wanted the divorce in the first place, to be with your _student?”_

“That was long before I met her, Selyse, and we both know we should have gone through with it.”

She stared at him brokenly, but there was no shock in her expression. He was right. The air was heavy with years of crushing disappointment, of things that might have been, yet never could be, no matter how hard either of them tried. 

When he spoke again, his voice sounded foreign to himself. "She's not my student. I barely know her. I'm sorry, Selyse."

Stannis was nothing if not honest; his words rang true. Despite all those months of obsession, he still barely knew Melisandre, let alone understand her eccentricities. But he'd made a mistake, as he had learned that day in his office, and he had a duty to fix it. As such he had tried briefly to steer her toward cleaner solutions—putting the child up for adoption, or terminating the pregnancy altogether. Much to his chagrin she was firm in her wish to keep the baby. _She had dreamt of him_ , she said,  _she saw a bright future for him when she prayed_.

_Oh_ , he had said. 

“She has nothing,” Stannis continued. “No money, no education…no family. And she has asked for nothing. The least I can do is support her. And...the baby.” For some reason that had been the only option since he learned Melisandre was keeping the child, not only for duty's sake, but because it was what his soul was telling him to do. _If he even had a soul at this point._ It didn't matter. He wasn't about to continue his romance with the red girl, but he would be in the child's life in some capacity. Somewhere deep in his heart, he knew he had to try.

“I’ve failed one marriage already, Selyse. I've failed one child.” His wife had turned away from him, head bowed with escaped tears. “And I'm sorry for that. But I have to make this right.” 

When she met his gaze again he thought he might die. "Then so must I," she said softly.

The divorce papers were waiting in his office a month later.


	7. A Boy

* * *

_January 2015_

* * *

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Melisandre reminded him. She was lying on the medical table, lazily studying the chipped red paint on her nails. “I told you, I don’t want your money, and I don’t want you to be here out of some sense of obligation.”

Stannis was pacing the room like a caged tiger. “And I told _you_ , I am here because I want to be.”

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, going back to her nails with some interest. "If you say so."

The ultrasound technician knocked and entered the room with a smile. “Hi there, Melisandre. Almost third trimester, huh?” Melisandre hummed as the woman began to prep the equipment. “And you are the father…?”

“Yes,” Stannis grit out. 

“Please stop pacing, Stannis. You’re making _me_ anxious, and that’s no small feat.”

That was certainly true. From the moment they had reconciled—and he used that word lightly—Melisandre’s calm smile had returned. He was reticent to admit it, but she was a truly radiant woman, despite having so little…let alone a plan for her child. They had barely worked out anything in that respect, other than his insistence that he would pay child support and see him or her on occasion. His dutiful contributions were accepted, of course, but she seemed more content that he was speaking to her again, if anything, and enthusiastic about the pregnancy in the first place. While she was still a reckless girl, he envied her for her ability to enjoy such a…complication. “It’s perfect timing,” she had insisted, grabbing his hand as they walked to the doctor's office. “By the time this little one comes, the sun will be out everyday!” He had glanced at the sky, then, but all he saw were clouds.

The technician smiled. “You wish to know the sex, then?”

Melisandre glanced at Stannis a final time, and he nodded curtly. “I think I know," she confided, "but I want to be sure.”

“Well, let’s see if you were right…ah. Congratulations, you’re having a boy!”

Melisandre laughed with delight, and Stannis felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. _It was true, then_.

How many years had they tried, he and Selyse? How many years had she cried, longed for a son? And now, after one foolish encounter, this careless girl was pregnant with a boy. His brother Robert would have pointed out the irony of the situation—loudly—had he not already drunk himself into the grave. _At least Shireen would have the brother she'd always wanted_ , he thought glumly, but his chest ached with the realization that she'd see him very rarely. 

When Stannis looked back at Melisandre, the technician was cleaning her up. Still, their eyes met for a split second, and he was taken aback by the joy he saw there. 

_Why, for gods' sake? WHY was she happy, when nothing was right?_

His mind reeled with the question, but his heart was insistent with a voice of its own:  _Because there is nothing left to lose._

Somehow, that made sense. 

Stannis managed a faint smile, and she beamed. 

 

* * *

5 April 2015 // 6:33 AM

* * *

“…So. How is _she?”_

“She has a name, Selyse.” 

“Don’t ask me to call her by name.”

“Right. Well, she’s fine. The nurse said they both are.”

 _Silence._ He heard her sigh.

“Does—does he look like you?”

“I…” Stannis sank slowly into the nearest chair in the corridor. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Stannis, for God's sake, it’s not that hard to tell—”

“I don’t know,” he repeated miserably. “I haven’t gone in yet.”


	8. A Bloody Psychic

* * *

  _March 2015_

* * *

 

Humming, Melisandre propped her aching feet onto his coffee table. “I’m glad our first date could be in a nice place like this. But…" She began to pull the sofa blanket around her heavily pregnant figure. “It’s freezing in here.”

Stannis winced, handing her a glass of water. “This is not a date.”

“Oh? What is it, then?”

He sat on the couch warily, placing a healthy distance between them. “I am showing you my home.”

“I hope our son is not as stubborn as you,” she teased.

He stiffened when she ran her fingers gently over his, and Melisandre’s smile dimmed. “What is it?”

“It’s just strange,” he muttered. “'Our son.' I had not thought of…the child that way.”

Melisandre’s smile fell completely, a volatile look in her eyes. “Have you thought of him in _any_ way?” 

He frowned, hearing the accusation in her voice. “Melisandre…”

She brought his hand almost violently to her swollen belly, and he started at the sudden contact. “Tell me the truth, Stannis. No more grinding your teeth to avoid my questions." He scowled and tried to pull his hand away from her, but she was insistent. "You visit me out of pity, or because it’s your duty, I don’t know which, and I don't really care. Either way, you say you’ll send me checks when he’s born. I’m supposed to be grateful for your charity, is that what you want me to say? And of course we’ll be safely away from you and your family and your university—what you've always wanted, right?” 

"That's not—"

"Don't lie. We've come too far for that." There was a brief silence. She tightened her hold on his fingers, staring at him heatedly. “I know your intentions are good, Stannis, I do. But you should understand. What you are doing won’t make it any easier for me. Money won’t change the fact that I can never have what _I_  want. Do you realize how much it hurts, having only part of you?”

Stannis stared at her for several agonizing seconds, feeling utterly wretched. “I…”

Why did she even want him? _Him_ , of all people? All he’d done was hurt her. Ruin her. _Why did he always fail those he loved?_

…Loved? _Her? No._ Not her.

Melisandre’s anger gave way to dejection. “No, I shouldn’t have said that,” she said quickly. She loosened her grip on his hand. “I’m sorry. I'm hormonal. I get these silly dreams in my head, because you’ve been so supportive. But I need to remember that you don’t owe us anything…” 

_Things can’t go on this way,_ he thought dully. But instead of telling her that, he said something even more foolish. “How did you know I was the one?” She lifted tearful eyes in surprise, and he immediately regretted asking. “In your flat…that morning. You said I was the one you had been searching for, that we were connected. Why did you say that?” 

He could tell Melisandre was still upset, but she answered in that ambiguous, poetic way of hers. “I just knew." Stannis narrowed his eyes, so she continued with a sigh. "It began when I saw you sitting there. There was something about you…a sadness that I could feel. So that night when I was praying, I asked God about you. And…” She smiled as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He answered. I found the truth that day, and I knew I had to pursue it—to pursue _you_ —with all my soul. So, that’s how it happened. It's strange, but that's how it is. Sometimes when I pray, I come away with the deepest peace, this sense of understanding, like a voice in my heart has spoken. I just…know the truth. And I can’t escape it. I see it in my dreams, in the real world." Melisandre turned her gaze to his windows—which were decidedly cleaner than hers—to watch the setting sun. A quiet moment passed. "That’s why I said what I said," she finally murmured. "Because I saw you, only you, all around me.” 

For a long minute Stannis was awe-struck, not only by the fact that she was quite serious, but also by the fact that he somehow... _understood_. “Like a bloody psychic.” 

Melisandre misunderstood his tone for contempt, however, and shook her head as if to clear the dreams from her mind. “I know you’re an atheist, Stannis. I don’t expect everyone to understand my beliefs, but I knowyou, no matter what you say _._ I don’t understand what compels you to keep visiting me…but I do know that I love you.” Stannis nearly choked on the air. She just smiled her entrancing smile. “That much I know. And we are connected now, whether you like it or not. Forever.”


	9. A Father Again

* * *

5 April 2015 // 6:40 AM

* * *

 

Stannis took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He was staring at her door in the maternity ward of that cold hospital. Her melodious voice echoed in his head, words from a sweltering morning nine months ago. _Life is a journey to find the truth._

When he finally pushed the door open, he was greeted by the sight of his daughter holding a bundle in the armchair next to Melisandre’s bed.

“Hi, papa!” Shireen was beaming. “We thought you’d never come in. But that’s okay, Mel has so many good stories about kings and queens and gods…” 

Stannis shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, I just needed coffee.” He suddenly felt like vomiting said coffee; he couldn’t meet the gaze of the red girl in the bed.

“He’s so cute,” Shireen went back to cooing over the bundle. “He’s going to be the best brother ever.”

For those few moments his eyes were locked not on Melisandre, not on the mysterious bundle, but on the precious girl holding him in her arms, her smile lit up the way it used to be, eyes sparkling with pure happiness.

 _What is this?_ He had asked Melisandre. _What are we doing?_

She had smiled at him, as usual, but there was a hint of sadness there. _I’ve already told you how I feel about you, Stannis. Only you can answer those questions._ He'd lain awake the entire night, contemplating that very thing. By the morning he was no closer to finding the answers. 

But this April morning was different. Because the last piece of the puzzle was sitting before him, in the image of his children brought together, brought back to him—and all because of the red girl.  _Shireen loves them both already_. And he could not see Shireen’s smile fade again; it would kill him.

“He wont be quite the _best_ brother,” he said finally, and he felt tension in the room. “A decent one, maybe. He'll cry in the middle of the night, you know, when you come to visit. And steal your toys.” Both girls stared at him in surprise.

“You mean…” Shireen put the pieces together in her head eagerly. “You mean, the baby will stay at home with you, and I can see him every weekend?” _Gods, what would he tell Selyse? How would he convince her that this was good for Shireen?_

Stannis finally met Melisandre's gaze. _It doesn’t matter,_ he decided. He would find a way. “If…Mel doesn't mind living in the Arctic with me.” Her eyes were exhausted, but he saw them sparkle with amusement and something else. For once, the corners of his own mouth lifted up instead of down.

Shireen glanced between the two adults in confusion. “The Arctic? Are you moving, papa?”

He reluctantly broke eye contact with Melisandre to assuage Shireen. “No, child.”

“Oh, good. Because Mel is my friend now, she’s going to take me to her prayer group, and then we’re taking the baby—“

“We’ll see,” Stannis said hastily, glancing at Melisandre, but she had taken to smiling conspiratorially with Shireen. He was struck by the awkward realization that just over ten years separated his daughter and his mistress. _For fuck's sake. What madness._

“Fine, papa, but you have to see him! He’s like a teddy bear, but squishier, and his neck is all wobbly…”

 _Wonderful madness,_ he amended. Heart racing, Stannis finally forced himself to walk over to Shireen and peer down into the bundle. He had inherited the trademark Baratheon hair, not his mother’s red—that much he could tell.

“Here,” Shireen offered, holding up the baby with clumsy arms. Stannis looked to Melisandre for guidance. It had been a long labor, a difficult birth, but she'd never been more beautiful. She nodded encouragingly, and he took the child gently into his arms.

Stannis stared at his son, unsure of what else to do. His throat had gone dry, a thousand memories of Shireen's birth flooding back to him.  _He looks like she did._ To his surprise, the baby opened his eyes, attentively studying Stannis in return. “He has your eyes,” he murmured.

Melisandre said nothing for once, and when he glanced up at her, he was alarmed to see her crying.

“Shireen…" he started hesitantly, "why don’t you say goodbye and wait outside. Your mother is on her way to pick you up.”

His daughter craned her neck up to kiss her brother, then bounded over to hug Melisandre as if she had known her all her life. Certainly more than the few awkward meals they had shared during her last months of pregnancy.

“Bye Mel, and baby—hey, what’s his name?”

Stannis quickly cut in. “He…doesn’t have one yet. Melisandre and I have a few things to discuss, but you’ll be the first to know, alright? I’ll come in a moment to walk you outside.” 

“Okay, papa.”

His grinning daughter skipped outside, closing the door behind her. Silence filled the room until the baby gurgled.

“He might be hungry,” Melisandre said. Her voice was still thick with tears.

“What’s wrong?”

Shrugging, she wiped her cheeks. “Nothing, I just…” Stannis took a seat next to her bed, still holding the baby, and she relaxed, fatigued, against the pillow. “I'm happy to see you holding him.” She lowered her voice. “Please, Stannis, tell me you’re not asking me to live with you out of pity or...”

“I’m not.” He shifted the baby onto one arm, reaching hesitantly for her hand with his own. “I don’t know where this is going,” he admitted. “But I know how much I care for you. I know I love this child, that Shireen is happy again, because of this. She has a brother now, gods help her." Melisandre smirked behind her tears. He continued, "But there's something else…I know the reason I ended up at your café, night after night. Somehow, I understand now. Because I was searching for someone too.”

“Someone…?”

Stannis lifted his eyes from the bundle to Melisandre hopelessly. His meaning was clear. The baby stirred, and their smiles warmed the frigid air, lighting up the world around him. How had his life come to this—this chance to be a father again?

He knew now. _Her_. It was always her.

The baby was growing restless between them now, and Melisandre hummed down at the child. 

“Welcome to the world, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I would post the prompt at the beginning of the fic, but I didn't want to spoil it!  
> This was the anon request: "Modern AU where Mel and Stannis have a child and show his relationship with that child. Or maybe show Shireen’s relationship with him/her."
> 
> I felt it deserved a little more than a one-shot. Hopefully the ending fluff made up for all the angst. #Happy Shireen is the best Shireen ~
> 
> Thanks for sticking around to the end of this little fic, and enjoy the epilogue! 
> 
> xx


	10. Epilogue

“Mel!”

The baby squirmed and wailed as Stannis attempted to pull the dirty diaper off. 

“MEL.” 

“Coming,” she sang from the next room.

Meanwhile, the baby had somehow contorted himself to flip onto his stomach. “What in seven hells,” Stannis muttered, trying to wrestle the child with one hand full of soiled materials.

“Don’t swear, and certainly don’t blaspheme in front of him,” Melisandre scolded, breezing into the nursery to salvage the situation. “Oh, my darling,” she cooed, coaxing the child to relax with one hand and preparing him with the other.  

“Our son should join a circus,” Stannis grumbled, tossing the offending nappies into the wastebin. When he turned back the baby was clean and fully content, gurgling as if nothing had occurred. “How do you do that?”

“Magic,” she flashed him a suggestive smile, gathering the child against her shoulder. “He’s quiet as a shadow with me.”

Stannis regarded her with awe. It was an expression he wore daily, just from seeing her wake up next to him. It was all the more impressive seeing her care for their son and even Shireen. While he had always struggled with children, even more than with adults, she was a natural. Admittedly she made him nervous with some of her more…alternative practices. He once walked in on the baby stretching his hand toward a candle Melisandre had left lit next to his crib.

_It’s out of reach,_ she assured him, _and it soothes him to sleep._

_It won’t be soothing when the room is on fire,_ he argued.

She hadn’t appreciated that very much.

“I think he had a good first birthday,” she concluded, rocking the child to sleep. “Don't you?”

“I doubt it. He cried the whole day.”

 “Hush! He did not.”

“A one-year-old won’t remember, so what does it matter?”

“Thoughtful as always, Stannis.” The professor shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m going to put Edric down,” Melisandre decided, moving to the bassinet. “Why don’t you get Shireen settled for the night?”

Stannis nodded and ran his hand over the baby’s coal black hair. The action brought an adoring smile to the young woman’s face.

The corners of own mouth twitched. “For the sake of all that is holy, Mel, blow out the candle.”

Her laugh followed him like a song as he walked down the hallway. Stannis noticed that his daughter’s door was cracked open. She was reading, as usual. “Shireen.”

“Hi, papa,” she murmured, still engrossed in her pages.

He stood somewhat awkwardly in the doorframe. “Did you enjoy the birthday party?”

She smiled and finally glanced up from her book. “Yeah. I think me and Edric ate too much cake.”

Stannis winced. “Edric and _I_.”

His daughter didn’t notice the correction, however, as she put aside her book and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Papa, are you going to get married?” she asked suddenly. Stannis froze. The room was silent for a very long time. “Papa…?”

He shook his head to clear his catatonic state. “What…what do you mean?" 

Shireen tilted her head. “I dunno…I just wondered if you were going to have a wedding. You sleep in the same bed as Mel, and you have a baby, and that’s what married people do.”

Stannis shifted in discomfort, but forced himself not to bolt out the door. “We haven’t…” It was then he noticed the hopeful look on her face. “Would that…make you happy?”

Her smile said it all. “I want to help Mel pick out a wedding dress! A white dress, not a red one. She’s already my step-mum, after all. And she makes you happier than I ever saw you.”

“We’ll see, Shireen…” he said after a moment, throat dry. He almost scolded her for saying such things when he hadn’t even considered a proposal, but he didn’t have the heart to shatter her smile. “Not a word of this to Mel, alright?”

She smiled secretively. “I won’t say anything!” He switched off the lights and turned to leave. “But papa?”

Stannis paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Do it before the next baby is born!”

* * *

 

“Come here,” Melisandre purred, running her feet over his calves. Stannis squirmed as he settled himself upon the bed. 

“Those had better be clean,” he mumbled.

Melisandre threw her head back in laughter before climbing on top of him. “Only you,” she mused, moving to kiss the scowl from his face.

It had been a full year since that day in the hospital, since she had moved in; a full year of being a dysfunctional little family. Even so, the couple had only been intimate a handful of times. They were still getting to know each other those first few months, and the stress of a newborn was certainly not conducive to seduction. But now that they were settled into their routine, Melisandre had become more insistent. And tempting.

There was only one small problem: she was too devout to trust conventional contraception. That had been a memorable conversation. _Sleeping with a stranger on your couch is fine, but birth control is evil?_ The dry remark had earned him a solid slap. She retorted that she had methods— _obviously, Stannis_ —some strange mixture of herbs and powders. He was predictably wary of their effectiveness.

Respecting her wishes was crucial, of course, but it was a delicate dance to play. Especially as she was currently sliding her red skirt down her legs, gazing up at him from under her eyelashes. “Mel…” he began cautiously. “We have to be careful.”

“Why?” she murmured, pressing her lips against his ear to kiss her way down his neck.

“You know why. Conceiving is a possibility. And we know from experience you have no trouble in _that_ area.” 

She sighed, pulling away to look at him pointedly. “So?”

“’So?’” He frowned with alarm. “Do you _want_ to get pregnant again?”

The red girl shrugged. “I want what God wants. I take precautions, as you know. But whatever is in His plan is a blessing.” She paused. “Do _you_ want another baby?”

Stannis blanched. “I’m old, Melisandre.”

“You’re not that old. Just grouchy.” He scowled, but she continued, “What are you afraid of?”

For a moment he was unsure how to respond. They had a son already, and he a daughter, so he couldn’t exactly feign anxiety over parenthood. Melisandre had quit her job at the café, thank the gods, so it wasn’t as if they had no one to stay at home with the baby. Her only employment now was running her prayer groups and scripture studies at the local R’hllor center, and even then she strapped Edric to her chest with bright red silks and brought him along anyway. _That_ had led to an unfortunate encounter. Melisandre had come home one day to casually report that Selyse was attending her services, and he decided that the universe was conspiring against him.

_“Your wife agrees that Edric looks like you."_

_“Ex-wife. Melisandre, this is a terrible idea. Work at another center.”_

_“Why? She showed no malice toward me, and she’s getting really into the faith. I’d say she seems quite…happy.”_

_“Happy? That’s impossible.”_

_“I think she’s met someone, Stannis.”_

And that had been the end of that. He could not feel bitter, not anymore. Melisandre told him that they all deserved happiness, that they had all been given a second chance. “Who are we to judge, or hold grudges?” She had kissed him then, and it felt like a closure and a promise at the same time.

In truth it was the moment he stopped caring about the opinions of others when it came to his unusual relationship with Melisandre. Selyse was at peace, as was his daughter, so it again begged her question—why  _not_ have another child? As a tenured professor he was comfortable financially, too, so he couldn’t use money as an excuse. 

Still, he had his reasons—it was a matter of practicality. What use was another child? He pondered all this as she was pulling his shirt off, however, and he couldn’t seem to make a rational objection at that moment.

Afterward she sprawled her limbs over his, her crimson hair tickling his arm. "Mmmph. We need to do this more often."

“Did you notice," he muttered, staring out the window, "it’s much warmer this April. It was very cold last spring.”

“Maybe because you finally increased the temperature in your own home.”

“I didn’t have a choice, did I?”

“No,” she agreed, kissing his chest. “I was not about to live in the Arctic forever.”

A smile ghosted over his lips, and they fell into a comfortable silence. _Neither was I,_ he thought, whether or not he had realized it. He silently thanked God, or the gods, or whoever would listen, for that arctic spring, and for the scarlet morning nine months before that. He even thanked the gods for the first time he saw her across that café. 

But most importantly he thanked _her_ , not always in words, but in a glance across the kitchen, in a brushing of hands, in his rare confessions of love. He was living again, and he just knew— _somehow_ —it was because of that red girl.

“Stannis…?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I may or may not already be pregnant.”

“ _Bloody h_ —”

“I promise, Stannis, you’ll live.” 

_And what a time to be alive_. 


End file.
